


Dancin' in Circles

by HaveAGoodeDay



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Asylum, American Horror Story: Freak Show
Genre: Crack Crossover, Crack Relationships, F/F, Incest?, Masturbation, Out of Character, Selfcest, Shameless Smut, The lines are blurred with the Tattler twins, a real mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 07:44:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17463434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaveAGoodeDay/pseuds/HaveAGoodeDay
Summary: Dot and Bette Tattler are invited to appear on the Lana Winters Special, and end up getting caught in a precarious situation while staying in the Journalist's guest bedroom...Purely, utterly, and unforgivably crack.





	Dancin' in Circles

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Abbie (@thecovenrises on twitter) so it's not completely my fault. Also, it's a crack fic, so I worked with what I was given. Apologies in advance. xx

_“I lay around, touch myself to pass the time._

_I fell down, I wish you were mine._

_I close my eyes._

_Take a breath and I picture us in a place_

_I can’t recognize.”_

 -  _ _Dancin’ in Circles,_ ** _Lady Gaga._**_

 

  


The solid _thud_ of her journal shutting as they get ready for bed is the only sound that Dot makes, her voice remains unused as they get up from the vanity. Not that she wants to use it. _I’m much happier keeping to myself._ Bette’s lips move with her rush of endless speech on the other hand. Excitement coloring her cheeks a pale pink.

 

“She seemed so nice, and sweet. Did you smell her perfume?” Bette asks to her as Dot pulls back their bedsheets. She receives no answer but it does little to deter her from continuing, “It smelled like flowers, all fancy and expensive. Didn’t it?”

 

_Be quiet._ Dot knows her sister can hear the thought - something that irks her on a daily basis. There’s another person sitting in on every little mental discussion with herself, and yet Bette takes no mercy on Dot’s grumpy mood. “Her pin was so pretty; did you see it sparkle in the lights! Oh, we’re going to be on the _television._ Everyone’s going to know us!”

 

“Everyone’s going to be _staring_ at us.” Dot bites - she feels Bette flinch at her bitter tone. “We’re going to be the circus monkey that all her viewers will laugh at.” The memory of the camera lenses, the boom sticks, the crew members gawking at the oddity of the _Tattler Twins._ “All this kindness,” Dot gestures around as they lay down on the cool mattress, “She’s only letting us stay in her home so we sell away our life story.” _Nobody’s this nice without a good reason._ Lana Winter’s invitation to appear on an episode of her special did offer a hefty check - but Dot isn’t naive _,_ they’re only good content to the tele-journalist. Not _people._

 

The guest bedroom of Lana’s house has one window, left open for a night time breeze; the sound of crickets chirp outside. She hears Bette sniffle and guilt chews away at her conscience. _I didn’t mean to make her cry._ As annoying as her sister can be, she’s still her sister. They’re unbreakably intertwined in every little thought and emotion, so Dot’s own mouth turns down in a soft frown as she speaks with more gentleness. “Hey, stop that.”

 

“I was excited.” Bette replies, voice pitched higher with a nasally quality from her coming tears.

 

Dot’s eyes roll - she closes them to instead look at the black of her eyelids instead of the darkened ceiling above them. “I’m excited too.” Dot relents. _Excited to get over with._ The money will easily support anything they want to pursue; it could buy another farm. Just like the one they called home for years. Something akin to anticipation does buzz to life as she thinks about the prospect, _not having to worry about neighbors._ Cows and chickens and a hoard of goats, maybe a horse. Far enough in the country to not worry about neighbors, to go outside and see all their livestock and crops everyday. _Besides,_ the interviewer could be worse. Lana Winters is professional, with her matching skirt and jacket. Her hair smoothed back in a ponytail that has only one stray curl that wisps itself by her ear. She didn’t even gape at them. Just a friendly smile, a warm greeting.

 

Her pleasant thoughts are so rudely shattered like glass breaking apart under the blunt hit of a hammer by Bette’s whispered voice, “She was pretty, wasn’t she?”

 

“ _Shut_ your mouth.” Dot groans, she wants to sleep. She doesn’t want to think about the warm flip in her belly as she thinks about Lana’s cupid bow, doesn’t like that Bette fuels the embers with her own lustful ideas. “Go to sleep.” _Stop thinking about her hands, you harlot._

 

“I heard she likes _women,_ Dot - did you know that?” Bette bites her lip, her eyes wide open in a sharp contrast to Dot’s screwed shut pair. Her fingers go to rest on their stomach, fidgeting the the cotton of their nightgown. “She’s a lesbian, that’s what the paper said.”

 

“ _So?_ You aren’t a lesbian.” Dot says with a final tone, leaving no room for discussion. “Even if you did think such filthy things, I am _not._ So stop thinking about her, and go to sleep or be quiet so I can.”

 

Still as Dot’s muscles untense, she thinks of Lana’s glossy red lip gloss and the freckles that dotted her upper chest. Any attempt to change the images in her head is pushed back by the heated feelings building and building and _burning_ from Bette’s own much more liberal fantasies. She tries to blame the unusual mindset on her sister’s rampant way of thinking. _Her eyes were so pretty._ They held both intellect and compassion. Dot can’t deny the want to see them again, to see her again. She’s down the hall in her own room right now. The intrusive images from Bette’s imagination make Dot cringe at the vision of Lana smiling, Lana _undressing -_ Her teeth grind together as she feels Bette’s wandering fingertips.

 

“Stop.” She commands, catches Bette’s wrist in her own to still it. _Lana’s perfume, the smell of roses and vanilla, what does she taste like?_ A vulgar flash of a tongue running across the pulse point of the reporter’s neck makes Dot sigh loudly in frustration. “What is wrong with you?” She asks, doesn’t find any common ground with the airy giggle that comes from Bette’s parted lips. “Have you got not an ounce of shame?”

 

“You like her too.” Bette teases, she pulls away hard enough to free her hand. Fingers tug up on the material of their clothing, exposing inch by inch of soft, pale thighs. “You should let yourself enjoy it, Dot, it feels so good.”

 

“It’s disgusting.”

 

Bette avoids her sister’s hand as her own arm reaches down, the pads of her two fingers pressing into the damp fabric of their panties. The pink cotton is uncomfortably wet. Dot bites the inside of her cheek. “You like it, don’t lie.” Bette’s breathing stutters, little chopped moans that get lost amongst the shuffle of her foot under the sheets. _You like it._ Dot holds her breath - it doesn’t do much. Bette still is nearly panting as she pushes their underwear aside. _You like it._  God, she _does._ Shame floods her almost as hotly as the tingles down their legs. As much as she tries, she can’t help but wonder what it would feel like with Lana’s fingers touching them instead - to have Lana hovering above her with an experienced glow.

 

Lana, _Lana,_ Lana, the image of the woman in her head is so steady and heavy Dot doesn’t even hear the door click open. Bette does - her hand stops moving. The sheet only covers up to their knees, so when the light flicks on. Dot’s eyes open wide at the illumination of the bulb. Her head turns to see Lana Winter’s in the flesh, standing in the doorway with a tray of milk and chocolate cake. _Move your damn hand!_ The red flush of Dot’s face spreads down under the neckline of the sleeping gown.

 

“Oh! Oh my God.” Lana’s mouth opens, it shuts; she settles on spinning in place to properly turn her back on the girls in bed. “I’m so sorry. I should have knocked.” A laugh escapes as her sentence ends, Lana’s own try at making the situation less embarrassing.

 

_Good job, she thinks we’re replusive now!_ Dot’s thoughts are quick, the dizziness of anger spinning her head until it aches. _You stupid slut!_ The show, the money, the stupid _fame_ Bette was so happy about - after this, there’s no doubt it’s all gone for good. She’s so busy caught up in the whirlwind of emotions, Dot doesn’t hear Bette start whimpering as much as she hears Lana reacting to it.

 

“Hey, don’t cry.” Lana’s hands itch to put the tray down, she chances a glance over her shoulder. Bette’s hand is now tucked against her side. The journalist turns to step closer to the bed, the tray left forgotten atop of the dresser where she leaves the dessert. “It’s not the end of the world, you know.”  Dot wants to shrink down, seeing this woman loom over them with the opposite of maliciousness. A palm cups Bette’s cheek first, the other finds itself against Dot’s shortly after.

 

_I don’t know how she can stand to touch us,_ Dot’s stomach churns - a mix of embarrassment and simmering heat only aided by a beautiful woman’s palm on her jawline.   _Here you are, molesting yourself under her roof._

 

Bette’s whimpers turn into one quick, bitten back sob. It makes Lana lean towards her with a worried air. “Everyone does that, no reason to be crying over it.”

 

“Dot says it’s _bad.”_ Bette lowers her voice as she finishes her statement, and her sister closes her eyes and can imagine the guilty look across Bette’s face right about now. “She gets so angry, because she likes it.”

 

“Shut up!” Her neck hurts with the force she turns it as far as possible to yell painfully close to Bette’s ear. “Shut your dirty mouth - I’d do it for you if I could!” The flood gates open, Dot’s tone drips with resentment, “I’m _sick_ and I’m _tired_ of your obscene thoughts polluting mine!”

 

“You shouldn’t fight.” Lana’s hands had retreated back to herself when the yelling started; now they rest on the twin’s knees. Their nightgown is ridden up on pale, smooth thighs. Dot feels like ducking under the covers as Lana’s brown eyes meet her own, “You shouldn’t be ashamed, or anything like that. It’s not gross.”

 

Lana’s eyes blink, they transition from a comforting gaze to something much warmer in its hooded nature. _She’s looking at us funny,_ Bette thinks. Her eyebrow quirks up as Lana’s palms lay flatly against the top of their thighs. _Her hands are cold._ The twins feel their breath stutter - wrists twitch to come up and touch Lana  as the journalist’s fingertips drag a suggestive line down to the inner tender flesh of their thighs. _I think she likes us._

 

_Don’t be silly._

 

Lana’s lips part - she doesn’t lean in to kiss either of the girls, but she does flick her glances back and forth between their mouths. Her voice has dropped in pitch, the gravelly quality that the murmured speech creates makes Dot narrow her eyes at her, “I kind of liked it.”

 

“You liked it?” Soft - too soft, Bette’s question is a wisp of an inquiry, her hand doesn’t have the mental handcuff that keeps Dot’s down. It reaches up to touch the rebellious strands of Lana’s hair fallen free of her ponytail. She ignores her twin’s desperate commands for her to stop twirling the soft curls. “Really?”

 

“Really.” Lana’s burning touches further the rolling heat under their navel, the way her fingers walk up the path of their legs. Thumbs rub absent minded circles, and Lana makes sure both the girls are looking at her before she asks, “Would you like some help?”

 

_She wants to help!_ It’s quiet, only the sounds of an old house around them to break up the silence, only Lana’s figure to look at with the corners of the room darkened in shadows. The yellow, warm glow of lamplight cast pretty shadows across her face - the silhouette of her nose. The lipstick she wore earlier is wiped off, leaving only the tint of crimson behind. Her eyeliner has smudged slightly in a blacken streak around her waterline. Her left hand finds itself breaking away from skin, from touching as Bette nods - then Dot. Lana uses it to properly hold herself up as she kneels over the girls. Her breath smells like chocolate; sweet and cocoa-y. Dot can’t help but frown jealousy as Lana choses to kiss Bette first.

 

Her grimace is quickly removed, kissed away by Lana’s sugary chaste affection. The innocence of her kiss doesn’t last; it dissolves into heated, open mouthed exploration. _Just_ when it feels too much, too hot, but not enough. Lana switches to Bette. Without the heady distraction of Lana’s lips, Dot focuses on her right hand, flicking at the elastic of their panties. Hips cant up into the featherlight touch. _Oh Lord,_ there’s a dizziness gathering about her head. It spins the room in the best of ways. Her nerves fire with all the sensations. Lana’s fingers tugging at the cotton of their underwear, shoving it down, down and away. Her fingers curl in the wiry, dark brunette hair on their pubic mound. She stops kissing Bette, lays one more against Dot’s eager mouth, and Then _watches_ as her finger pad meets the swollen, wet bud that makes both the twins groan loudly.

 

“You’re so wet.” Lana bites her lip, worries the thing between her teeth as she starts broad, pressure fueled circles. They slide without a bit of friction; Bette’s moans piping out of her in small, panting breaths. Dot catches her own in her throat, doesn’t let a sound break except a hushful groan. Bette hikes her knee up, her toes curl in the sheets.

 

Her sister’s thoughts are running wild, like a herd of cattle trying to stampede away from the dogs nipping their ankles. Dot ignores them, focuses only on the woman above her. The freckles across her chest, the balminess her presence brings. The bedroom feels too hot. Stifling, the sheets beneath them dampen with sweat.

 

On the flipside, Lana herself feels a boiling burn sear itself like a branding iron inside her lower body. The twins screw their eyes shut - they gasp and they grunt and their pelvis tips up toward her hand. It’s addictive, watching their shared reactions to different stimulus. Part of her wants to draw it out and make the most of the scene in front of her - but they’re hopelessly close to their edge. Obvious in the way she can practically feel their heart hammering against their ribcage. The sounds they _both_ make, the feeling of Bette grabbing at her, and Dot’s fingers twisting the fabric of the sheets. Lana moves a little faster; her arm aches with the angle, and encourages with a rumbled, “Go ahead.”

 

Their back doesn’t arch, Lana instead eases them through an orgasm that makes them sink into the mattress. The tension breaks like a snapping branch, falling of a tree. _Two_ pairs of lips have her name tumbling off of them. The harsh, fast up and down motions of Lana’s fingers draw out the climax until Dot bats away her fingers.

 

“That was-” Lana starts, and is surprised when it’s not Bette who finishes her sentence, but the other twin. Dot’s uptight aura from their earlier interview, the angry and spiteful feelings she felt toward her sister just a few moments ago, they’ve all melted away to be replaced with contentment. She smiles, the red flush of her orgasm makes her glow in the low lighting.

 

“ _Amazing.”_

 

Bette’s voice doesn’t speak out loud - instead she thinks with great determination. Her hand comes up to pull at the ends of Lana’s sleep shirt, to run them along the ticklishness of the journalist’s stomach. A mischievous smirk overtakes both their expressions as Lana kisses the expanse of their collarbone. _I wonder what she looks like when it happens._

 

Dot finally lets herself fan her digits out against Lana’s chest. _Let’s find out._  
  



End file.
